


some things were meant to be

by acreatureofhope



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, OCs and more OCs, Original Character(s), Platonic Bed Sharing, i don't care about canon we are making our own way here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:13:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22826962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acreatureofhope/pseuds/acreatureofhope
Summary: Victoire and Teddy, Teddy and Victoire—where one goes, the other follows. As fixtures in one another’s lives since childhood, with barely more than a year separating them, they know everything about each other—everything, that is, except for how they really feel. He loves her, she loves him, and maybe theirs is just another story of boy meets girl. Provided, of course, that they can realize the true depth of their feelings, which is easier said than done.
Relationships: Teddy Lupin/Victoire Weasley
Kudos: 10





	some things were meant to be

“Merlin, Teddy, can you please just go away?”

He tosses a pair of socks at her from where he’s lying on her bed, hazel eyes glittering as he grins. “No can do, Vic.”

She snatches the socks out of the air, setting them on the growing pile of clothes that sits on her desk. “I need to pack and you’re not helping me.”

“Should’ve thought about that last week, love,” he says, his grin widening when she takes the socks off the pile and chucks them at his head. “Now, that’s just rude.”

“You’re bloody useless, you know that?” she asks. “If you’re going to insist on harassing me today, could you at least make yourself useful?”

“I repeat, you could’ve done this last week,” he says, but he pushes himself into a seated position and looks at her. “What do you want me to do?”

“I was busy last week and we all can’t be as on top of things as you are, anyway,” she says. “And could you please get my trunk from the attic?”

“You’re more organized than me ninety percent of the time, so I’m going to call that nonsense.” He stands and stretches his arms over his head, his Pride of Portree t-shirt pulling up over his stomach. “But yeah, I’ll get it. I’ll just have to avoid the feelings of how hurt I am that you only keep me around to do your manual labor for you.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re a wizard, you’re just going to levitate the damn thing up here anyway.”

He grins. “Damn straight. I’ll be back in a minute.”

She shakes her head as he lets himself out of the door of her bedroom after dropping her socks back on her desk, sorting through the piles of clothes and robes that are sitting on its surface. After so many years of going to and from school, one would think that she would know exactly what to bring and how to not over-pack, but every the year it’s the same story—her, standing in her room, trying to decide what to pack into her trunk, and Teddy, hovering around her, doing everything in his power to make life (and packing) as difficult for her as humanly possible.

She’s got a pile of jeans and a few sets of robes set aside by the time he comes back, and she groans at the sound of wood-on-wood. “Do you really have to hit that off the door frame? You know that was a gift.”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but your trunk isn’t exactly small and it’s kind of difficult to maneuver,” he says, lowering the trunk down on top of her rug with a quiet _thud_.

She pops the lid open. “You do realize that you could’ve just shrunk it, right?” He’s quiet and she shakes her head. “Really, Teddy, it’s a wonder how you get anything done at school sometimes.”

“This is why you’re the prefect and I’m not,” he says, sitting down on the edge of her bed.

“No, you’re just a Quidditch captain who has to organize practice schedules and keep five unruly teenagers from burning down the locker rooms and the entire Quidditch pitch,” she says.

“Only five unruly teenagers?” he asks. “Aren’t your calculations a little bit off?”

She grins. “Well, I am a prefect for a reason.”

He shakes his head. “The nerve.” Her grin widens and he wrinkles his nose. “Can I help with anything else?”

“Not unless you want to sort through all the socks that you were so kindly throwing at me earlier,” she says.

He sighs, pulling the drawer toward him from where she set it on the bed. “I really don’t understand why you always choose this as the opportune time to look for everything that has holes in it. Wouldn’t it be more efficient to do that _before_ you start packing?”

“Two birds, one stone. If I’m going to have to go through all my clothes, I might as well only do it once.” She folds a shirt and places it on top of yet another pile. “And let me guess, it took you ten minutes to pack because you just shrunk everything and threw it in your trunk without a care for what it is you’re actually going to need this year.”

“Yes to the shrinking, no to the throwing.” He makes a face at a pair of socks with a giant hole in the heel and sets them aside. “I was responsible this time, Vic. I folded my clothes and everything.”

“I’d ask your Nan to verify that, but I don’t want to put her in that position.” She catches the socks that he throws at her and grins. “Chaser, remember?”

He makes a face. “Yeah, I do remember, ‘cause Dom wanted to toss the Quaffle around this afternoon, and instead I’m up here helping you pack.”

“I’m hardly forcing you to do it,” she says. “If you want to go find her and play, I’m not stopping you.”

“It’s not as fun if you aren’t there,” he says.”You can’t play keep away as well in a one-on-one.”

“Then stop talking and help me pack,” she says. “The sooner this is done, the sooner we can go mess around a bit.” She shakes her head when he grins. “Not like that, you git. Honestly, you can be such a teenage boy sometimes.”

“Don’t give me an opening and I won’t do things that annoy you.” He checks a pair of socks and refolds them, setting them on a different pile than the holey pair from earlier.

“I wish I believed you,” she says. “And could you please get my textbooks? I want them in my trunk before I start putting clothes in.”

He stands. “See, manual labor. You only want me for my body.”

She rolls her eyes. “If you’re not careful, I’ll throw a textbook at you instead of a pair of socks.”

“Manual labor _and_ physical abuse,” he says. “I might have to stop spending time with you.”

She laughs. “Please, you’d be lost without me.”

He glances back over his shoulder at her as he takes the textbooks from her bookshelf, casting a genuine smile in her direction that makes her stop in the middle of folding a sweater, frozen—melting?—for a moment under the warmth of his expression. “And don’t I know it.”

They make quick work of the packing once they get into a rhythm, Teddy passing her whatever she asks for from wherever it is in her room so that she can organize all of it inside of her trunk. He’s almost as quick at finding everything as she would be— _almost_ —but his speed isn’t exactly unexpected after he helped her rearrange every piece of furniture (and all of the associated belongings) in her room two summers ago. It’s easier said than done, fitting everything he hands her inside the trunk, but she barely has to sit on top of the lid in order to latch it shut, and she dusts her hands together and smiles once the latch is closed.

“Well, that wasn’t as bad as last year.”

He grimaces. “I don’t know if anything could be as bad as last year. It took me and Louis sitting on that thing to get it shut.”

“Exactly,” she says. “I did a better job of packing this time around.” She glances at the clock and grins. “And we still have a couple of hours til supper. Want to get Dom?”

He straightens, his eyes widening. “Do I ever. I’ll meet you outside.”

He’s out the door in an instant, and she shakes her head when she hears him calling her sister’s name. The pounding of feet on the stairs accompanies her as she trades her vest for an old t-shirt and her shorts for a pair of athletic leggings that she’d bought on a shopping trip with Aunt Hermione. Hardly anyone in the family wore robes anymore, except at work or school or formal social functions, and she couldn’t say that she wanted to complain about it. Muggle lounge wear was just so _comfortable_ , and the athletic gear made for better practice wear under her Quidditch robes (or on its own, in the case of the family games at home or at her relatives’ houses).

Dom and Teddy are already in the air and tossing the Quaffle back and forth when she steps out of the back door, her broom under her arm. She barely has the opportunity to get in the air herself before Teddy tosses the Quaffle at her, the grin on his face wide enough that she can see it even from halfway across the yard.

She snags the Quaffle out of the air, just catching it with the tips of her fingers, and tucks it into the crook of her elbow. “Not wasting any time, are you?”

“We already lost enough to the packing,” he says. “I’m not about to waste any more. Besides, I had to make sure you were still good enough to be on my team this year.”

She lobs the Quaffle at him, grinning when he misses and Dom catches it instead. “Are you sure it’s me that you should be worried about?”

“Such insolence,” he says. “Maybe I should kick you off the team just for that.”

“If you kick her off then we’ll lose,” Dom says, continuing before Victoire has the opportunity to speak. “I mean, I’m good, but I hardly want to carry the whole team on my back if I don’t have to.”

Victoire wrinkles her nose. “Gee, thanks, Dom.”

“Anytime,” Dom says, grinning at her. “How much do you want to bet that he can’t catch us?”

“I’d bet you a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, but I know you’re right,” Victoire says, “so if we win, Teddy gets to buy both of us a butterbeer instead.” She catches the Quaffle when Dom throws at her, grinning over her shoulder at Teddy as she takes off across the yard.

He follows her, leaning low over his broom as he calls, “I don’t remember agreeing to this.”

Dom laughs, catching the Quaffle when Victoire throws it at her just as Teddy reaches for it. “You’ll get over it eventually.”

True to form, he doesn’t get the Quaffle from either of them until they exchange a nod almost half an hour later, culminating in Victoire tossing it to him. He grazes it with the tips of his fingers before diving down to catch it, shooting her a look through narrowed eyes as he pulls his broom up, the Quaffle tucked under his arm.

“Really?”

She shrugs, sitting back on her broom. “Consider it payback for you chucking it right at my face. It’s not my fault that you weren’t prepared.”

“Well, you two haven’t let me have it practically since we got out here,” he says. “Why would I be prepared?”

Dom grins. “What did everyone learn from Moody, Teddy?”

He rolls his eyes as she and Victoire sing, _“Constant vigilance_.”

“I could be wrong, but I don’t think he was talking about Quidditch when he said that,” he says.

Victoire shakes her head. “He was talking life, and life includes Quidditch, so therefore, you need to practice constant vigilance while playing Quidditch. It’s a natural progression.”

“Clearly,” Teddy deadpans. She sticks her tongue out and he laughs. “Real mature, Vic.”

“No one said that I have to be the adult here, even though I so often am,” she says.

Dom makes a face. “I’m pretty sure I’m the mature one here right now. How the mighty have fallen.”

“Someone has to do it,” Victoire says. “It’s high time you took a turn at it, especially since you’ll be responsible for keeping all the youngins out of trouble after next year.”

“Merlin,” Dom says. “I changed my mind. I don’t want to be the mature one.”

Teddy laughs. “If I survived it, you definitely can.”

“She’ll be just like you, I’m sure,” Victoire says.

He glances at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t keep anyone out of trouble,” Victoire says. “You’re there helping them get into it.”

Dom smiles. “Yeah, that sounds about right. That I can handle.”

She ducks when Teddy pitches the Quaffle over her head, Victoire snatching it out of the air before it can crash into the roof.

“Honestly, how did I wind up related to the lot of you?” Victoire asks, shaking her head when Teddy gestures for her to toss the Quaffle back. “No, I think I’ll keep it.”

She leans low on her broom, speeding off over the beach and grinning when she hears Teddy curse behind her. Neither he nor Dom catch her until she turns back toward the house and he pushes the Quaffle out of her grip, Dom waiting below to catch it. It’s endless play after that, weaving and diving and laughing until her mother calls them from the back door to come inside for supper.

She’s reaching for the potatoes when Dom’s play-by-play of their afternoon fades out—and not a moment too soon, since all of the gesturing had nearly resulted in the casualty of two cups of water and a glass of wine—and Fleur sighs. “I almost can’t believe that this will be your final first day of school, Teddy.”

“You’re telling me,” he says, smiling slightly. “Don’t mention it to Nan whenever you see her next or she might start crying.” He glances at Victoire. “Are you going to have some of those or can you pass them here?”

She jumps in her seat, picking up the platter that her hand had been resting on. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Teddy’s getting old,” Dom says. Teddy screws up his face and Dom cackles when his scarlet hair shifts to grey and wrinkles form around his nose and mouth. “Like I said, old.”

Teddy screws up his face again, his features returning to normal, and grins at Dom. “I hate to break it to you, kid, but it’ll happen to you too, eventually.”

“Don’t remind me,” Bill says. “I’m not ready to be an old man yet.”

“You’ve got at least… oh, three more years before you need to worry about that,” Teddy says, grinning again when Bill glares at him. “Just calling it like I see it.”

Bill shakes his head. “Causing trouble, more like.”

Louis pokes her arm and she looks at him. “What?”

“Can I have the potatoes?” he asks.

She picks them up from where they sit, forgotten, by Teddy’s elbow. “Here.” Louis takes them and she pushes back her chair, shrugging when Teddy glances up at her. “I forgot my drink, I’ll be right back.”

He follows her up to her room after they’re done eating, wordlessly helping her return clothes and dresser drawers to their rightful locations before they each fall back onto the bed, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars that Aunt Luna had painted on her ceiling at her request years before. Teddy had helped her paint the walls last year, but the stars had made it out unscathed, and she knows they aren’t exactly mature, but in the moment she can’t bring herself to care.

They lie there in silence until he reaches for her hand, tracing his fingers over her skin before he clasps them with hers.

“What’s going on?” he asks. “You got quiet while we were eating.” She shrugs and he squeezes her hand. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I know, I just…” She sighs. “My mum just made me start thinking about how this is the last time that we’re going to do this.”

“Do what, play Quidditch and eat with your family?” he asks. “Hardly.”

“No,” she says. “I mean that it’s the last time that you’re going to be over here annoying me while I’m trying to pack for the year, and tomorrow’s the last time that we’ll be getting on the train together on the first of September, and it’s just a lot, Teddy.”

“I mean, it is a lot, but it’s not going to change anything,” he says. “And if you really believe that I won’t be around here pestering you as much as possible next year, you’re mad.”

She shakes her head. “It’s going to change _everything_. Even if you’re here this time next year, you’re not really going to be around anymore, and I’m going to be at school on my own, and then what?”

He rolls onto his side, still holding her hand. “It’s not going to matter.”

She rolls over to face him. “How can you say that?”

He smiles, the fading light that sinks through her window catching the flecks of green in his eyes. “Do you really think I’m going to just leave school and forget about you entirely?” His smile fades when she stays quiet, his grip on her hand tightening. “That would never happen. Honestly, Vic, it won’t matter. Do you really think that all of this will just fall apart after all these years, just because we aren’t physically in the same place every day anymore? Call me mad, but as far as I’m concerned, as long as we’re breathing, we’re together. We’re going to be fine.” When she doesn’t say anything, he lifts his free hand and brushes her hair out of her face. “Repeat after me: we’re going to be fine.”

“We’re going to be fine,” she whispers.

Again, he smiles. “Exactly.” He rolls onto his back a moment later and yawns. “All that Quidditch tired me out. Wake me up in an hour.”

She rolls onto her back as well. “You know I’m going to fall asleep too and no one is going to be waking anybody up until at least midnight.”

“Honestly, what do I pay you for?” he asks.

She snorts. “You don’t.”

“Oh,” he says. “Right.”

Their hands are still clasped when they drift off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Cliché af fic title that has been used for who knows how many fics already? Check. Ignoring canon? Check. Too many OCs to count? Check (okay, well, there's five with actual character sketches in the Scrivener project for this, but that's just the tip of the iceberg). Tropey as hell? Check. Fic that isn't actually finished but I'm posting it anyway? Check and double check. A fic that isn't Star Wars? Oh my god, who would've thought it was possible.
> 
> I have been feeling grossly uninspired lately and have been wanting to post something but didn't think I had anything ready, only to remember that this exists because I wrote it as a last-ditch effort to win NaNoWriMo back in the fall when I was down 30k words and had four days to catch up. The outline isn't even done (due to the aforementioned four days of writing time), but here we are. I've got nine chapters written already and I will probably post one every ~week or so, as that'll take us to roughly the end of when I'm working 60-hour weeks and thus when I should have time to start writing the rest of this thing (because I am determined to finish _one_ writing project in 2020, damn it).
> 
> Teddy and Vic are my babies. They were my first foray into fic, many many moons ago, when I was but a fledgling writer, and while this is a different take on them than my original Teddy and Vic (and ignores canon age differences and how they supposedly got together, but I prefer to ignore everything JKR has said, done, or published since DH was released, for a variety of reasons (LET ME HAVE MY DAMN NEXTGEN PLAYGROUND, JO)), who I will revisit one day to give them the story they actually deserve, I still love this particular version of them dearly and hope you will too (really, you could say that they're my comfort pairing, since I always seem to go back to them when I'm feeling a little lost in my writing). Apologies if any part of this is a mess. Like I said, I wrote the first nine chapters in four days. 
> 
> Let's do this thing.


End file.
